


Lunchtime Apparel

by lighthouse_at_sea



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Crack, Fluff, Garak's poor Cardassian sensibilities, Julian absolutely knows what he's doing, M/M, Pre-Episode: s02e22 The Wire, Pre-Slash, Skant, season one or two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25776445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lighthouse_at_sea/pseuds/lighthouse_at_sea
Summary: Garak is met with a very skantily clad doctor.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 29
Kudos: 98





	Lunchtime Apparel

**Author's Note:**

> Absolutely self-indulgent fic that I wrote very quickly. Enjoy!

Garak sipped on his red leaf tea and leisurely drifted his gaze around the Replimat and surrounding Promenade. Bashir was late, as usual, and Garak had taken to ordering a cup of tea in the interim instead of politely letting his food go cold. The tea danced around on his tongue and the steam wafted around his face, warming him up. Happily, he lapped the air, enjoying the feel of the cold station air mixing with the steam of the tea and then dragging the mixture back in to scent. He repeated the motion to his own delight. What was better than the simple joys of drinking tea?

He must have scented it five times already, staring happily into his cup.

"Garak! Good to see you!"

Garak darted his tongue back in, slightly disappointed he had caught none of the doctor's scent before doing so. He pushed aside the embarrassment of losing track of his surroundings and raised his head to meet the doctor's gaze. He really should turn down the wire's setting. The dial was in his pocket. Perhaps tomorrow.

"Ah, Doctor, how good to see you as well."

But his mouth could not create another sentence when his vision filled with the sight of Doctor Bashir.

The clothing, if it could even be called that, as revealing as it was, was at odds with the doctor's happy, innocent smile.

Bare arms nearly up to his shoulders and Garak could see a sliver of brown skin between the end of the outfit and where the metal table blocked the rest of the view.

He could tell it was a uniform, a black body with a large, rectangular swath of blue complete with collar and pips. But, to his knowledge, no one else on the station had ever worn such a thing. Perhaps it was the new uniform? Garak nearly shivered at the thought. Yes, that could very well be the case. And if it were, he would be greeted with this beautiful sight once a week. Oh he would manage. Barely.

Garak inhaled sharply as Julian _leaned down_ against the table. The apparel barely looked long enough to cover his backside modestly when standing! Garak was sure the people behind them were receiving quite the view. He was sure his neck scales were turning inky black-blue at the thought of having the privilege of being in their place.

"Are you alright? Are you going to order or are you just having tea today?"

"Yes, no, not just tea… Ah, let's get in line."

The doctor smiled placidly, but kept himself pressed against the table at that obscene angle even as Garak stood up. The doctor _had_ to know what he was doing as he looked up at Garak with those wide, brown eyes.

Garak set his cup of tea down while staring pointedly at the doctor. Finally, Bashir straightened up, brushing down his outfit for crumbs. A very real possibility at the Replimat. But that's what the doctor got for leaning across tables like a harlot.

Garak did not glance down once in their short time in line, and he especially didn't look on their way back, the doctor's long strides likely causing the fabric to move and stretch and hitch.

Garak sat down but the doctor merely set down his tray. Garak stared up at him.

He really should have worked harder to get the doctor in his bed sooner. Now it was much too late for a quick dalliance. They were… something else now. He couldn't go so far as to say friends; he was sure the doctor found him interesting, but that was all. Garak was happy to have their lunches together. But not if the doctor was set on killing him.

"Can I have your opinion on something, Garak?"

Garak inclined his head politely, steadfastly keeping his gaze locked on the doctor's face.

The doctor smoothed down his outfit and turned his body slightly. "Do you like my outfit?"

Garak's scales darkened. Bashir was playing a very dangerous, possibly cruel game. What was the point of all this? Nevertheless, he allowed himself to scan the outfit up and down, keeping his face stern. He was a tailor, damn it! He was plenty used to seeing bodies of various states of undress.

His eyes followed along the lines and seams and away from gangly limbs. The only modest aspect of this outfit was the high collar. Garak wasn't sure he'd have been able to take it if the neck dipped loose and low. Of course, on a station full of so many different cultures, many wore clothing that did not meet the modest views of Cardassians, but he had never expected the honorable doctor to show up dressed like some kind of hussy. 

Even his night clothes, of which he had seen a grand total of one time, were appropriately modest. This was something he would have expected from Lieutenant Dax. Upstanding Federation employee though she was, the articles of clothing she asked for would make anyone darken all the way to the roots of their hair.

"The fit is delightful. Tell me, did you go to a different tailor for that?"

Garak tsked at the doctor for his supposed unfaithfulness. A delightful overlap between human and Cardassian culture. Although instead of a gentle chide, on Cardassia it was used in situations a bit more uncouth. If anything, it was payback for how Bashir was treating him. The heady scent of the doctor that he dragged back in was enthralling, as disarming as kanar through his veins.

"Yes, but back at the academy. I guess I should be glad I'm keeping myself in shape. But you never know, I might have to take it in for a fitting. And I'll know just who to go to."

Garak inclined his head in a servile bow. "I am always happy to lend you my services."

Thank the State, the doctor finally sat down, and those long, golden legs slid out of view. Instead, he now only had to avoid staring at long, golden arms, dusted with the barest amount of fur. He could see the hairs when the doctor rested one arm on the table, scooping up food with the other. He wondered what it would feel like to rub his hand across it.

"So, why the change of attire? Don't tell me the rest of your fellow Starfleet officers will soon be wearing this delightful… article." Garak shoveled in a bite out of his ek'dak bowl for something to do. Today they were supposed to be discussing _A Night for Ancestors,_ but he wasn't quite sure he could keep his focus trained on such a discussion. What if, one day, the doctor offered him a novel of a different sort? Handing it over to Garak with lidded eyes. _I think you'll enjoy this one._

"Skant."

"I'm sorry?" Had Garak somehow missed a sentence or two in his ridiculous musings?

"My outfit is called a skant, and don't worry, we're not switching over. People are free to wear them, but they're not nearly as popular as a few years back. I'm wearing it because I had the day off and felt like something different. Don't get me wrong, I love the long style now, but you couldn't tear me out of this skant in my academy days."

Garak nodded and took a small sip of his tea. "What changed?"

The doctor's nose scrunched and he actually didn't inhale his next bite of food in at lightning speed, leaving the long pasta strands dangling on his fork.

"I got thrown up on by a Bolian. Burns all down my legs. My friends patched me up right quick though. Heh, kind of funny to see eight different people whip out dermal regenerators. And by that time, I was doing more and more work with real patients, and I realized I should be covering up a bit more to avoid all the mess. And now here, I've found it's a bit chilly. I got spoiled in sunny San Francisco, can't handle anything less than 20 degrees. Can you believe they keep the station at 15 degrees? I mean, I understand it's hard to keep a space station warm, no atmosphere around us, but still."

To emphasize his point, the doctor dragged his hands up and down his arms and made a small shuddering noise.

"I completely agree, doctor. And Deep Space Nine has no excuse, this place was kept at 38 degrees when it was Terok Nor."

Garak was vindicated by the doctor's look of betrayal and chuckled lightly.

The doctor laughed as well and his eyes crinkled in a smile as he kept looking down and back up at him. Garak found the sight utterly endearing.

They ate a few more bites in silence. Now that he was a bit more used to the _skant_ , it was a bit easier to focus on eating without wanting to stare in a blissful daze at the figure in front of him. He wondered if he should go for a dessert afterwards. The doctor had already admitted to having the day off, surely stretching out their lunch a bit longer than usual wouldn't be remiss.

"So, _A Night for Ancestors_. I have to say, Glinn Akett wasn't actually the worst protagonist."

Garak tilted his head in acknowledgement of the misguided sentiment. "High praise. If only he were the protagonist."

The doctor, having just taken an inordinately large bite of pasta, could only chew and glare angrily, but Garak could practically see the counterarguments taking shape behind those lovely eyes.

Garak smiled sweetly and took a sip of tea.

**Author's Note:**

> skant hell now <3


End file.
